The Six Month Lease (Southern Hearts Club Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  “If she was so jealous of me, then why did she want to keep being my friend?”

  When they all look at me in a come on, really? way, I realize I’ve already answered my own question.

  Because I’ve been the only one idiotic enough to put up with her crap.

  Most other girls wouldn’t. And don’t. I’ve just always told myself it’s because I’m the only one who’s been around Shae long enough to understand her.

  “At some point,” Gretchen continues, “she decided that rather than being like you, she just wanted to be you. She hooked up with the same guys, wore the same clothes, dyed her hair the same color, all in an attempt to have the fabulous life of Harper St. Clair. She wanted to be liked, loved, wanted, desired. She figured the only way to do that was to become you.”

  “Good God.” Quinn shudders. “You’re lucky she never came at you with a steak knife and made lamp shades out of your skin.”

  Sloane makes a sound of disgust. “Did you have to go there?”

  Quinn shrugs. Or as much as you can shrug in Mountain pose.

  I take a deep breath, calling on all the yogi gods to work their magic and calm my rising blood pressure. “She’s such a…” Say it. You never have before, and you know you want to. “A bitch.”

  The instructor peeks one eye open at me, causing me to flinch in apology. There’s a reason we chose to stay at the back of the room. But perhaps a quiet yoga studio that’s meant for mediation and harnessing one’s chi wasn’t the best choice of location for this particular conversation.

  “Finally,” Quinn mutters under her breath, though I hear it quite clearly.

  “Has she always been that bad, and I’ve just been too stupid to see it?” I’m afraid to even look at them when I ask it.

  “Yes,” both Quinn and Gretchen say simultaneously.

  “No,” Sloane insists, shooting glares at the other two. Her face softens in sympathy when she looks back at me. “You’ve just been that good of a friend. You’ve given her more chances and opportunities to not be such a hateful, vindictive shrew over the years. Far more than any of us would have given her. You’ve wanted to see the best in her. That’s not a bad thing.”

  “The excuses you’ve made for her disorders only go so far,” Quinn says, remembering to actually whisper. “At some point, personal responsibility has to set in.”

  “And what about my mother?” I ask Dr. Gretchen. “How would you analyze her behavior?”

  Gretchen scowls. “That doesn’t take an expert in anything to explain. She’s just a selfish hag who only keeps people in her life as long as they’re useful to her. Why do you think she’s had so many husbands?”

  “I just think no man can stand her for very long,” Quinn murmurs dryly.

  Following the instructor’s directive, we all move into Crescent pose, sending Gretchen into a sputtering tirade of curses, only some of which are in hushed tones.

  “Dear God,” she hisses. “Backs are not meant to bend this way. Unless it’s during sex. Because then, even if you’re in pain, you can at least distract yourself with the nice, long stiffie between your legs.”

  Sloane chokes on her next breath. “Might want to rephrase that, Gretch. Unless you’ve made a serious life decision you’ve neglected to tell us about.”

  Gretchen blows her a kiss. “You should be so lucky.”

  Gretchen’s bestie blows out an insufferably long sigh.

  “Talk about someone badly in need of a ride on a nice, long stiffie,” Gretchen mutters quietly, jerking her thumb at the other woman.

  The three of us give in to our giggles.

  For whatever reason, my mind chooses that moment to start blaring West’s words from last night in my head like bad heavy metal music.

  She’ll sabotage every chance you get at happiness. Because if you have someone in your life, then you’ll no longer be her little puppet she can control.

  My mood instantly sobers. “West is right, you know. I’ve let those two walk all over me for most of my life. And I know better. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “It’s understandable, though,” Quinn says contemplatively. “You and Violet have never been close. Your dad was and still is always out of town. Your mother was never the affectionate, nurturing type, but at least she was there. She may have always criticized and corrected you, but at least she was talking to you, interacting with you. I think you glommed onto that out of necessity. By the time Shae came along, you were just desperate for someone to want to spend time with you. To need you. In a way, the two of you became dependent on each other.”

  I can agree that was probably the case when I was younger. But now… I have these three women in my life. The past six years I’ve known them have given me more female companionship, love, and support than I ever had in the eighteen years before I met them. These ladies are my real friends. True friends.

  I thought I had that once with Shae.

  But all I’ve ever been to her is a template. A measure of comparison. A status gauge. A jealousy trigger.

  To my mother, all I’ve ever been is a tool to be used and manipulated. Then she rinses and repeats. And it’s clear to me now—crystal fucking clear—that she will never change. She crossed the final line with me last night at the gala. With my three girls in my life, I have no room for anyone who doesn’t give a shit about my happiness and is only out to destroy however much of it I can carve out.

  Took you long enough to solve that mystery, Sherlock.

  When the hell did Slut-sheeba become my voice of reason?

  “You’re not actually going to let your mother win, right?” Sloane asks.

  I shake my head. “No. But what am I supposed to do? She’s going to make sure West’s aviation certifications never see the light of day if I don’t take that position in a couple of months.”

  Gretchen grunts. “There are ways to get around that. He could operate out of Mount Pleasant, for example. It’s a completely different city limit, which means a different city government to go through for those certifications. One your mother has no influence in.”

  Oh, my God.

  Why didn’t I think of that? She’s absolutely right. He could just move his company home base to a different zip code and Mother couldn’t do anything about it.

  “What about the start-up money?” I ask. “He’s obviously not going to take that donation, nor would I let him. And I’m pretty sure any loan from a Charleston bank is out of the question.” Since Mother’s already informed me she could talk every single president into turning him down.

  “Carter’s been wanting to talk to West about that,” Sloane whispers. “He’s interested in investing. Says he wants to go over numbers and everything.”

  “My bastard boss said the same thing,” Gretchen throws out. “He’s looking for new investments and wants West to get in touch with him.”

  That’s a very promising start.

  Holy shit. A glimmer of light is beginning to appear at the end of the tunnel.

  Quinn peeks out the corner of her eye. “I take it you haven’t heard from West since last night?”

  She might as well have driven a letter opener through my heart. It probably would have hurt less than the reminder of how West basically washed his hands of me twelve hours ago.

  And you’re going to keep pushing away any man who could make you happy until you figure that out. Just like you’re pushing me away right now. But this time, it’s the last damn time.

  “No,” I answer, wiping beads of sweat off my brow with the hem of my tank top.

  I didn’t bother going home after leaving the gala last night. I figured he wouldn’t want to see me even if he was there—which I suspect he wasn’t—so I went straight to Gretchen’s and crashed on her spare bed.

  The same sense of panic that gripped me in that lobby last night resumes its unyielding hold around my throat. I can’t lose him. He’s become…everything to me.

  He said I was making my own choice between him
and Shae and Mother. And honestly, if our roles were reversed, I would have walked away last night, too. I’ve never made it clear to West that he’s the most important person in my life by standing up to those two. The first major bump in our relationship four months ago, I chose Shae. This second bump, I didn’t intentionally choose them, but I didn’t fight for him like I should have either. I didn’t stand up in front of that entire room of entitled charlatans and tell Mother to go to hell. I was a coward.

  I made a huge mistake, and I have to make it up to him. He has to know that a life with him is all I want, and I’m willing to do whatever I have to in order to make that happen.

  I won’t give up.

  Because you don’t give up on the people you love.

  I love West.

  So much it feels like my heart is going to split in two. And that kind of love is not about to go away. I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life. So, if I want him to love me back, I need to make this right. No matter how much apologizing I have to do, no matter how many bridges I have to burn, no matter how many threats Mother delivers.

  He’s worth all of it and so much more.

  “Well, I don’t think we need to tell you that you can’t let that boy go,” Gretchen muses. “He’s one of the good ones, Harp. Like the slogan says, the few, the proud—”

  “West was never in the Marines.”

  “—the helicopter pilots.”

  “Okay, seriously, do you mind?” the woman next to Gretchen finally snaps, glaring us all down.

  Flipping her own glare switch on, Gretchen turns to her. “Do you mind? My best friend is having a life crisis over here. I thought these places were supposed to be devoted to finding inner peace or some shit. Well, we’re trying to help her find hers. How about a little understanding?”

  The thirties-something brunette rolls her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake. It’s easy.” She turns her sharp gaze on me. “Honey, ditch the mother bitch, claim the man, and let us get the hell on with our class.”

  The room bursts into applause, the instructor even joining in.

  I hang my head in embarrassment, too mortified to look anyone in the eyes.

  Gretchen doesn’t take her assessing eyes off the haughty woman. Over her shoulder, she tells us, “I’ve changed my mind. This one will do just fine.” She pulls out a white business card from her sports bra and hands it to the woman. “Call this number if you want to be adopted by the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse.” Then she pulls a second, more worn business card out of her bra. “And call this number for a hard ride on a nice, long stiffie.”

  “All right,” the instructor roars, pointing at us. “You four, out. Now.”

  The four of us can barely get ahold of ourselves as we leave the studio, we’re laughing so hard.

  “Wow,” Sloane wheezes, trying to catch her breath. “I’ve never been kicked out of a yoga studio before.”

  Gretchen buffs her nails on her boobs. “Add it to the list.”

  My phone starts ringing inside my purse as we’re huddled on the sidewalk. When I reach in and pull it out, I don’t recognize the number on the screen. I hold out a finger to my friends and turn away to answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Harper St. Clair?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Hi, Ms. St. Clair. My name is Elsa Claymore. I’m with the Charleston Cultural Board.”

  Her name sounds vaguely familiar. Working at the Foundation, I have contact with a lot of city officials and government offices. Although I don’t know why she would be calling my cell phone about a Foundation issue. I never give my personal number out.

  “Yes, Ms. Claymore. How can I help you?”

  “I’m calling regarding your vendor application with the City Market.”

  I shake my head in confusion, convinced I heard her wrong. “I’m sorry. Did you say my vendor application?”

  “Yes. The one you submitted about four months ago? You see, it seems two of our vendors have recently had some changes to their personal circumstances, and they need to terminate their current leases. Which has opened up two spots, one of which I’ve already filled. And, well, you’re next on the waiting list for the final spot.”

  “Waiting list?” I sputter. “Isn’t that thing really long? I thought you had to be on it for months before a booth spot would open up.”

  I checked into it not too long ago when I was feeling all brave and headstrong. Leasing a vendor booth at the City Market—ironically, where West and I first met—requires an application, which has to be reviewed by the Charleston Cultural Board, followed by a lengthy time slot on their waiting list.

  Knowing nothing would immediately happen, I held off on submitting my application. I figured there was time to muster up more courage to do everything I would need to do before taking that final plunge into self-employment. I didn’t have to rush into entrepreneurship, right?

  “Well, Ms. St. Clair,” the woman says, sounding uncertain. “You’ve already been on it for months now. Some of the individuals on the list ahead of you withdrew their applications and—long story short, you’ve got the next spot, if you want it.”

  Oo-kay.

  It appears the train left the station without me because none of this is making any sense.

  “Has there been a mistake?” Ms. Claymore asks. “The paperwork I have has your number listed as the secondary contact number, but there was no answer when I called the primary number. I apologize, I probably should have called it back before—”

  “What’s listed as the primary number?”

  She rattles off a series of numbers that I instantly recognize.

  West’s cell.

  He did this? He submitted an application for me? Got me on the interminably long waiting list without my permission? I can’t decide if I should be pissed about this, or if I just—

  Love him even more for it.

  That’s the winner right there. He knows how badly I want this. He’s always understood that, no matter how steadfastly I’ve refused to open up about it. He knows.

  He…gets me.

  My God.

  West really does get me. The last four months, that’s what’s been holding me back. I thought, because of the whole Shae situation, that we just weren’t meant for each other. That if I had to run around in circles trying to explain my decision-making process and constantly defend my friendships, then he wasn’t the right guy for me.

  But Shae isn’t the fulcrum point of my relationships. Nor is my mother. And it pisses me off on an unholy level that I’ve treated either of them that way.

  Especially since West has been right about both of them all along. He and I have always clicked in all the ways that matter. Why in the hell have I let anything else overshadow that? Have I really been that goddammed brainwashed?

  Yes, dumbass!

  “No, ma’am,” I tell Ms. Claymore as the dorkiest smile breaks out over my face. “It’s not a mistake at all. I just didn’t expect a spot to open up so quickly.”

  “Oh, good,” she says on a relieved exhale. “So, I know it’s a little short notice, but the spot will be open by this upcoming weekend. Can you have a vendor booth ready by Saturday?”

  A million things zip through my mind in a matter of seconds. I start trying to frantically organize them, itemize them one-by-one.

  Then a calm settles over me, like a cozy winter blanket you snuggle up with in front of a fire.

  And it feels so beautifully, life-affirming right.

  “Absolutely. I’ll definitely be ready.”

  After hanging up with a delighted Ms. Claymore, I march back over to my girls. At my determined expression, each of them pushes back her shoulders, like she’s ready to take up her sword and slay dragons for me.

  True. Fucking. Friends.

  “I need my Southern Sisters.”

  Gretchen scrunches up her nose. “Not original enough.”

  “Down South Divas?” Sloane suggests.
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br />   “We’re not drag queens,” Quinn quips.

  “Tell me what we’re doing first, Barbie,” Gretchen interjects. “Then I’ll decide on a name direction.”

  I lift my chin confidently. “We’re going to start my own business.”

  The same slow smile creeps onto each of their faces.

  Gretchen points at me, pride gleaming from her silver eyes. “Dolls with Balls.”

  Quinn and Sloane both nod in approval. “We’re in.”

  I take a deep breath. “Let’s get to work.”

  And let it out.

  “Where’s the Panty-Dropping Plum?” I ask frantically as I dig through one of my many boxes of products.

  “Here.” Quinn pops into my eyeline, holding out the black tube of lipstick. “It fell off the table and rolled under your chair.”

  I sigh in relief and place it with the other darker shades on my display table. “Okay, how does this look? Should I switch the signs around? Maybe the bigger one should go over the—”

  “Harper,” Quinn cuts in. She takes me by the shoulders and forces me to look at her. “Everything looks great. Seriously, relax. You’re going to be fine.”

  I give her a bobble head response, nodding repeatedly until it feels like my neck is going to snap in half.

  I inspect my tables one last time, ensuring that my product placement is as I envisioned. And thanks to the efforts of the three most amazing women on the planet, I have more than enough inventory to fill all three tables and then some.

  The four of us spent all week making this happen. They sacrificed their time and sleep to make sure I had a full booth of products ready to sell to the public by today. While I doggedly worked on making everything, Quinn made sure that every product was packed correctly and labeled with my personal logo and company name. Sloane was in charge of setting up my website, social media accounts, and ordering business cards. And Gretchen handled all the marketing materials, including the graphic design of my logo and various swag, the signage for my booth, and brochures and flyers with details about my all-natural products that she’s been distributing to local businesses.